


warm honey

by thecrowsoundtrack



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Anxiety, Discussion of STIs, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, Frottage, Lots of kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Richie POV, So much kissing, sappy self indulgent romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:35:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22580344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecrowsoundtrack/pseuds/thecrowsoundtrack
Summary: He tries to focus, to concentrate on the words Eddie just sent him.Eddie said that he loved him. Eddie said that he’s loved Richie since 9th grade. Eddie said he feels like he could live alone with Richie in a hole in the ground and still be happy.He couldn’t still find a way to fuck everything up, right? Could he?
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 25
Kudos: 286





	warm honey

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Blissymbolics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blissymbolics/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Exoneration of Richie Tozier](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26297857) by [Blissymbolics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blissymbolics/pseuds/Blissymbolics). 



> Bliss wrote an AWESOME reddie social media AU on Twitter, The Exoneration of Richie Tozier, and I just had to take the chance to write this scene that follows the boys' love confession. So this little fic is best enjoyed with the work that inspired it, which is linked above!

“Just come to my fucking room.”

Fat tears roll down Richie’s cheeks and drip, drip, drip onto his phone screen. He smears the sleeve of his dingey housecoat over the glass with shaking hands, but Eddie’s last message is still distorted. 

He tries to focus, to concentrate on the words Eddie just sent him. 

Eddie said that he loved him. Eddie said that he’s loved Richie since 9th grade. Eddie said he feels like he could live alone with Richie in a hole in the ground and still be happy. 

He couldn’t still find a way to fuck everything up, right? Could he?

His face is on fire, his ears are tingling, his chest is tight. They’ve danced around their feelings for-well-forever. Now in the blink of an eye Richie’s heart is laid bare before Eddie. He had to do it by fucking _text_ , and he might be well on the verge of a full-blown panic attack, but he did it. He thinks it paid off, too. 

So why does it feel like there’s a ball and chain attached to his ankle, anchoring him to the couch, when he wants nothing more than to hold Eddie right now? Something evil in his brain is working hard to convince him that the second he walks through Eddie's door he’ll realise this is an elaborate joke from Hell. It already feels like a fever dream he’s bound to wake up from any minute.

His phone pings with another text alert.

“Please.”

And of course, his mushy, predictable heart jumps in his chest. Beep Beep! Earth-to-fuck-ing-Richie!

Eddie _loves him back_.

Eddie _wants_ Richie to go to him.

Actually, Eddie might be in his room freaking out too. Alone. The thought digs into his chest like a knife. He wouldn’t leave Eddie to deal with anything alone. And frankly, he wouldn’t deny Eddie anything he wants. 

He gives his glasses and phone each a pitiful wipe down and types one last reply.

“This would be so much more dramatic if your contact pic wasn’t a spaghetti stock photo.”

Send.

Then he drags his ass up off the couch.

* * *

He doesn’t think that he needs to knock, but he lightly raps a knuckle against the door anyway, in some silly attempt at stalling. From the other side he hears a quiet but notably exasperated sigh. If he weren’t braced for some unknown cataclysmic event he would have recognised it as fond amusement.

“Who is it?”

“It’s uh-it’s me, Eds.”

He laughs. Eddie’s laugh is like a song to his ears.

“C’mon man, I know it’s you. Just come in.”

So, he does.

The overhead lights are off, but Eddie has turned on his side table lamp. His shadow falls across the right side of the bed, over which the blankets are unwrinkled, untouched. Eddie’s tucked neatly into the left side. He’s sitting against a mountain of neat pillows, with the duvet folded neatly over his lap. He looks so small wrapped up in Richie’s king size bed, so delicate, though Richie knows he’s anything but. His eyes shine up at Richie wide and expectant, though they’re tinted with red and surrounded by heavy purple bags. They crinkle adorably with his smile, though.

The sight really drills the reality of the situation in for Richie, and a laugh rips out of his chest. Then, a sob.

“Aw Rich,” Eddie’s voice cracks with concern, and Richie’s eyes well up right on queue. He wants to force the tears down and wipe that panicked look off Eddie’s face. Can he work this into a joke? He’s not even sure he can breathe properly.

His ears feel like they’re stuffed with cotton. His chest hurts. His mouth tastes like salt. 

“I-fuck,” he chokes as he falls back against the wall to steady himself. He yanks his glasses off with sweaty palms and they fumble out of his hands and onto the floor. God, this is catastrophic. He sighs shakily and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fuck. I just need a sec Eds.”

Eddie’s brow wrinkles up then, like he’s calculating all of the variables in front of him. Once he seems to make a decision to act, he doesn’t waste a second. He pushes up out of the covers. He moves to retrieve Richie’s glasses from where they lie on the floor and tucks them into the left pocket of his cotton, navy blue night pants.

And then he’s in Richie’s space, and Richie can barely think to panic before Eddie’s steady hands snake around his waist. He lets his head fall against Richie’s chest, lets his weight fall against Richie’s body, and holds him. 

His movements are so gentle and understanding. It only makes Richie cry more. 

Eddie mumbles something that sounds reassuring that Richie can’t quite hear properly, but he can feel the lips in question moving against his chest, and the touch is so soothing, so grounding. It prompts him to finally move his arms to grip Eddie’s warm body tightly to him. He breathes in the smell of mint and vanilla and sweat. He tries to focus on the way the well-fitting white t-shirt clings to the expanse of his back, the way it hugs his shoulder blades. Lightly, and with caution, he runs a knuckle slowly up the smaller man’s spine and breathes deeply as he tries to will the tears away.

Their bodies shake together with the jagged rise and fall of Richie’s chest, but Eddie doesn’t let go. Instead, he moves to press a kiss to Richie’s collarbone, and it’s so sweet it burns. Sticky tears coat Richie’s chin and neck. This tattered Bart Simpson t-shirt will be soaked with sweat and tears soon, but Eddie holds on. He reaches up to tangle his hands into the curls at the nape of Richie’s neck, and pulls him closer, presses their foreheads together. 

He isn’t sure how much time passes like this before his breathing finally starts to slow. Eddie is everywhere against him like electricity. He doesn’t think he ever wants to move. 

He might just let Eddie hold him like this forever. 

“Richie.”

He takes a deep breath and pulls away just enough to meet Eddie’s eyes. 

“How are you doing up there, Tozier?” Eddie whispers fondly.

The only man who Richie has ever truly loved is in his arms right now, pressing himself into Richie’s space, worriedly gazing into his eyes, his lips just a breath away with no hint of retreat. It’s devastatingly perfect.

He’s a minefield of big gay emotions, but he could be doing a hell of a lot worse right now.

“I’m a fucking mess for you Spaghetti,” he croaks.

That earns him another laugh, and he grins. A cheesy line about Eddie’s laughter being the best medicine crosses his mind, and he briefly worries that requited love will ruin his comedy career.

Eddie swipes a thumb through the tears on Richie’s cheek, wiping them away. Then he reaches into his pocket and retrieves Richie’s glasses. Richie watches Eddie’s hands, entranced, as he cradles the glasses, gently rubs the lenses with the corner of his nightshirt until they gleam. He leans over to secure the glasses back in place, fingers brushing Richie’s cheeks and ears everything comes into focus again. Now that he can see properly, he takes a moment to stare at the subtle freckles dancing across Eddie’s face, the tired lines sitting on Eddie’s forehead, the ragged pink skin of his cheek where Bower’s knife was sheathed before he ripped it out of his own fucking face and stabbed him back through a goddamn shower curtain, God this man is incredible.

“What is it?”

“N-nothing, Eds. You’re just pretty swell,” Richie smiles.

“You’re such a fucking sap Rich, I haven’t even kissed you yet.”

He knows his eyes betray him to light up like fireworks at the word _kiss._ The wires connecting his brain to his trash mouth spark to life.

“What’s holding you back, big shot?” he hums, smiling down at those ridiculous, moony eyes. 

“Look at you, you’re a mess. I don’t want to traumatise you any further,” Eddie whispers, but he’s leaning in anyway, and they’re so close, so close.

They fumble their noses together and giggle like the bashful, tragically awkward teenagers, and it’s perfect for them. Richie tilts his head to rest against Eddie’s, wet eyelashes dragging briefly across Eddie’s blush red cheeks. He moves his hand to cradle Eddie’s face and Eddie’s head tilts right into it, welcoming the touch. His hands move to dig into Richie’s hip and shoulder possessively. He can smell minty toothpaste on Eddie’s breath.

The more they touch, the louder Richie can hear his heart pounding in his ears, and he feels like he could sing or dance or even fucking fly. His swelling heart is trapped in a cartoonish little cage and the lock is about to burst apart.

And then Eddie is plunging into Richie’s mouth.

It’s a criminally sweet, open-mouthed thing. Any tension left in Richie’s shoulders bleeds right away. They cling tightly together as they explore each other’s mouths, months of desperate tension and longing fading away. Eddie’s lips are careful but eager and explorative on Richie’s mouth, like he knows they have all the time in the world together now, but he doesn’t feel very patient anyway. 

Richie thought that if they ever took this step, it would be in a heated, spontaneous moment. He’d pictured Eddie cutting him off in the middle of an argument with an angry kiss a hundred times. It would be fair to guess they would come together in a ridiculous, adrenaline fueled moment like that. 

Instead, the way Eddie breathes into Richie is achingly reassuring. It says, _finally._ It says _thank you for waiting with me._ It says _there isn’t any going back. Not now or ever._

It pulls a few silent tears from Richie again, like he knew it would. He’ll be damned if Eddie tries to break away and say something about it now. 

He focuses on the sound of their lips dragging wetly against each other. He thinks there isn’t a song he loves more than the sweet pull and pop of this kiss. He lets his tongue run along Eddie’s bottom lip in a daring tease, breath hot against that perfect open mouth. 

“We’re really doing this,” Eddie pants against him, incredulous. 

His breathy voice echoes over Richie’s mouth, and his skin feels like it’s on fire. He leans in to nip at Eddie’s lip in response and it earns him a delicious gasp. 

“We are really doing this,” Richie sighs, and as he says it he can hardly believe it himself. 

They let their mouths slide together sweetly for a few moments. Richie tries to memorise the feeling of their bodies wound together. Eddie’s body is so sweet he’s going to get cavities.

He almost chokes when he feels Eddie’s arousal twitch through thin pyjama pants. He’s been half hard since Eddie started kissing him, and Eddie hasn’t retreated. So he dares to try something naughtier.

He dips his tongue behind Eddie’s teeth and gently coaxes Eddie’s legs apart with a knee, desperate to feel Eddie’s stiffening cock against his leg, and when Eddie fervently pulls Richie’s tongue deep into his mouth and _sucks_ , Richie knows he made the right call. He worries he’ll come in his pants before they even get to the bed. 

But then Eddie pulls his lips away, panting, and Richie thinks he might die from the loss of contact. He’s only allowed a moment of panic before Eddie’s face is pressed to his chest, fists clung to his shirt, and get a load of this, he’s fucking _laughing_.

“Eds! Wait, what, the, _fuck_! That was so _dirty._ Why did you stop?” he punctuates each syllable with a finger jab to Eddie’s side, prompting Eddie to yelp with laughter and almost double over, but Richie holds him up, hopelessly charmed.

“I’m sorry! Just wait a minute!” Eddie splutters, and he’s bursting with that perfect melodious laughter that Richie wants to swallow up whole.

He pulls Eddie toward his face again, presses a kiss to his chin. Eddie’s face and neck are pink with his blush, and his eyes are dazed and smiley. His lips are kissed bright red and shiny with spit. It’s the sexiest thing Richie has seen in his life-so far.

“Fuck you, Kaspbrak! What gives?” he laughs. He can hear the lust in his own voice, and the giddy excitement that this moment has fueled. He doesn’t care. He wants Eddie to hear it, to know how good he feels in his arms like this, the way it’s meant to be.

“Everything is fine. You’re just... overwhelming,” Eddie finally replies, eyes fixed on the man above him, and it goes straight to Richie’s dick.

“Fuck…”

“Not so wordsy now, huh Trashmouth?” he laughs and takes Richie’s hand to pull him away from where he leans against the wall. “Come to bed with me at least. We’re too old to be making out against the wall all night.”

And he happily follows Eddie’s guidance, squeaking with excitement in the process.

“That’s a weak excuse! I’d kiss you in a trash heap.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“We’ll see.”

Then he falls back against the soft pillows piled up at the headboard and opens his arms, warm and inviting, to Richie.

Richie follows him down. Eddie curls his arm around Richie’s neck and pulls his head in to give his hair a kiss. He tucks himself closer to Eddie’s side and wraps an arm over his waist, tangling their legs together. 

They lie still for a moment, just holding each other. Breathing each other in. 

They’re close enough that they need only whisper when they speak again. 

“Eddie…I can barely get through a minute of this before I think I’m going to burst into tears again,” He sighs, trying to blink away the prickling sensation behind his eyes.

“It’s ok Rich, I know you. I think my feelings might be a little hurt if you _didn’t_ cry while confessing your undying affections for me.”

“Should my feelings be hurt that you’re bone dry?” Richie teases. 

“I did cry, a little. Since we’re throwing our shit on the table now.”

His honestly almost shocks Richie into another sob, which he promptly tries to hide by pressing his mouth to Eddie’s neck and suckling gently at the skin there. He licks across soft, tanned skin, pressing his tongue against Eddie’s neck, over his collarbone, and down his chest. Eddie hums, and he moans, and he trembles with delight, and Richie beams against him with giddy pride.

With his mouth pressed over hot skin, Richie thinks, “This is it. This is it for me.”

He considers the words that he has still not said aloud. He wants to promise Eddie that he isn’t going anywhere, to show him all of the attention and care that his mortal body is capable of. He needs to show Eddie just how much he wants this. 

So swiftly, he pulls away from Eddie’s iron grip despite his groans of protest, and snakes himself across Eddie’s lap, straddling him. Eddie laughs and looks up at him expectantly, a dopey smile Richie hasn’t seen before glued to his face. He lowers himself into Eddie’s lap, and the feeling of Eddie’s hard dick against his ass is _exquisite,_ but he can’t get carried away yet.

He props himself up with an elbow beside Eddie’s head, and moves the opposite hand to cup Eddie’s cheek. Eddie’s hands move to hold firmly onto Richie’s hips. He leans in close enough to kiss him again. 

Instead, lips brushing Eddie’s, he says what he’s been aching to say to this beautiful man for his entire life.

“Edward Spaghetti Kaspbrak, I am so in love with you.”

The tears spring back again.

“I love you so fucking much. I love you more than I know how to handle.”

He presses a sweet kiss to Eddie’s cheek, runs his thumb along the other.

“I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything before.”

He presses their foreheads together. Eddie’s breathing is quiet, but heavy. Richie’s eyes fall closed. A tear splashes on Eddie’s nose, painting a streak of wet across his cheek. 

“I love you so much I think I’m losing my- _Jesus, shit fuck holy fuck-”_

Eddie tightens his grip on Richie’s hips and pulls Richie _filthily_ against the hard cock in his lap, cutting his confession off mid breath. 

“I love you too, Richie. I love you so much.” he pants. “But can you not make me cry again? I _need_ to come, like right the fuck now.”

_Holy fucking shit._

“Are you-really? Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m absolutely positive. Can’t you feel how certain I am, dumbass?” he grinds his hips up against the cleft of Richie’s ass for emphasis.

“Jesus” Richie actually hisses at the contact. “I want you too. Of fucking course, I want you, Eds.”

“There is one thing,” Eddie begins, carefully.

“Anything.”

“I really don’t want to talk about this.”

“Come on Spaghetti lips, spill it.”

“God that’s horrible-do not call me that! Look, I just can’t not think about it. I can’t stop worrying, you know I can’t. Did you use protection with that guy the other night?”

Richie prepared for this conversation. Though, he doesn’t want to talk about the other night, either. It was self-hatred and spite that drove him to flirt back with that guy from his show. Everything about his love for Eddie felt so terrifying and hopeless, even though he was sure Eddie liked him back. 

And this random fucking dude-he was cute enough, and he laughed at Richie’s jokes, but it was still some of the stalest sex he’d ever had. He was just so despicably _not_ Eddie. Richie was so tuned out he barely remembers what the guy’s face looked like, let alone his dick. 

He never wants to see anyone’s dick but Eddie’s for the rest of his life.

“Yeah, yeah of course. Of course, Eds. I was tested pretty recently before that guy too, and I am proud to report that there’s nothing spooky going on with my john.”

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up,” Eddie laughs, then takes a minute to consider Richie’s words. There’s a moment of silence before he speaks again.

“Can I ask…why did you get tested so recently?”

“Uh…I’m very careful and health conscious?” Richie tries, but he’s grinning.

“I’m serious Richie.” 

“I know, I promise.” He lightly moves his hand up to gently poke Eddie’s cheek earning him a bit of a glare. “I guess it was just wishful thinking, Eddie my love.”

“Wishful thinking,” Eddie repeats blankly.

“Yes.” He waits for Eddie to catch on, his lips threatening to twist into another smirk.

“For…this?”

In one movement, Richie combs his fingers through Eddie’s hair, and gently presses Eddie’s head to the side, exposing his neck. He moves his lips to hover just beneath Eddie’s ear, lips almost pressing into hot skin once more.

“Fucking _absolutely_ for this, Eds, duh,” he whispers, and presses a wet kiss to Eddie’s neck, and speaks again. Eddie sucks in a sharp breath. 

“Listen. I won’t lie to you,” he runs his hands through Eddie’s hair, soothing. “There’s nothing I want more in the world right now than to have your dick in me. But I’ll get tested again first. We’ll wait to do anything full frontal, ok? I waited forever, I can wait a few more weeks.”

This must please Eddie immensely, because he responds by reaching out to grip Richie’s ass, pressing him determinedly against his cock again. Richie bucks his hips against Eddie’s in response. His own dick is straining hot against his boxer briefs, precome pooling where the cloth covers his tip. 

“Good, because I want you just like this anyway Rich. Fuck. I’ve thought about this a thousand times.”

Richie looks down to where their hips are crushed together, and gulps.

“Uh. Right.”

Eddie reaches out to urge Richie’s shirt up his chest. He dutifully follows instruction and pulls it off the rest of the way, shuddering under Eddie’s curious touch. Firm, loving hands run up Richie’s sides, squeezes the soft fat around his hips, grazes his knuckles through the hair on his belly. Richie pants beneath him in some kind of trace, absolutely wowed at Eddie’s determination.

Richie reaches out to push Eddie’s shirt up and off too, and suddenly Eddie is sitting up and urging Richie off his lap. He tears his own shirt off in a hurry and moves to push Richie back onto the bed instead. He makes quick work of sliding into Richie’s lap, pressing their sex together through thin fabric.

Then, as if Eddie had a direct line to Richie’s horniest dreams and desires, he circles each of Richie’s wrists in his thin, strong hands and pins them above his head. 

Richie could blow up any second.

“Now for the million-dollar question. Are you capable of getting your dick wet without crying, Tozier?” Eddie purrs. His voice is dripping with his arousal. His eyes are dark, and he looks more than satisfied to be in charge.

“Ha ha, Eds gets off a good one! Absolutely not, and you know it, babe.” 

Eddie promptly drops his mouth to Richie’s left nipple and sucks, _hard,_ and Richie is a crumbling mess underneath him in no time. He fucks his hips up into Eddie, but Eddie presses back hard and pins Richie to the bed. He grinds against him firm and tantalisingly slow as he sucks a deep purple mark into Richie’s chest, and all Richie can do is writhe under him and try to stifle his moaning. Good lord, he hopes Bev is sleeping through this.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful-” Eddie mutters, and the words send a jolt through Richie’s spine. He can barely mutter a “You-you too Eds,” before Eddie begins to fuck determined, firm circles into Richie’s lap that send them both spluttering and gasping for each other’s mouths, chests, anything. 

“For the longest time I’ve thought about you, about this. Since we were kids. I’ve thought about just going to you wherever you are and sitting in your lap and rocking into you just like this.”

Richie’s head falls back against the pillows, and he splutters a curse. Did Eddie really just say that? Is this Heaven? He doesn’t think he can speak properly to try to ask.

“I’ve thought about rubbing you till you’re begging me to come in your pants.”

“Do it, fuck me, fuck-” Richie nearly bawls, and a whine slips from Eddie’s lips in response. Eddie is just as ruined over Richie as Richie is over Eddie, and doesn’t know what he did to deserve it. He’s so overwhelmed, so in love, and so distracted by the moment, that nothing could prepare him for Eddie’s thumb pressing firmly against his lower lip and into Richie’s mouth, urging him to suck. 

When Richie comes, his eyes are full of tears and he’s sipping on Eddie’s thumb like a cock, pathetically keening like some helpless animal, elated and happier than he’s felt his entire life. 

Eddie follows him down just moments later, comes with a moan that drips from his lips like honey, and Richie’s mouth falls open like he could catch it on his tongue.

His heart aches. Eddie’s thumb drags along Richie’s bottom lip when it slips free, down his chin, before he falls slack against Richie’s body gasping a colourful string of curses. They lie pressed together, lazily breathing, nipping and kissing each other wherever there’s skin available. And when their breathing settles, and Eddie pushes up on his forearms to look down at Richie, his eyes are filled with tears too. They drip onto Richie’s naked breast and trail down his sternum.

“Oh my God,” Richie whispers, and he reaches up to cup Eddie’s cheek.

Barely a beat passes before they start to giggle again. It isn’t a quiet, gentle thing anymore. Their chests shake together with unbridled, childish laughter. Richie reaches up to wrap his arms around Eddie’s middle and roll him over again, and Eddie howls under him, his chest erupting with joy. 

“Eddie! I thought I was the brooding man-child in this relationship! You got tears all over my pecs!” Richie cries, beaming.

Eddie slaps his chest affectionately. “Pecs! Are you fucking with me right now?” 

“You love this chub, I know you do! You said it!”

“I didn’t say that. But I do,” and Eddie kisses him.

Richie could be 13 again, pinning Eddie to the cold vinyl of the Twister mat while Eddie kicks and punches half-heartedly to be freed, rapturous laughter swirling through the air like music. 

Whatever life hurls at them now, whether it’s Myra’s bullshit, or the closet that Richie itches to escape more with every touch of Eddie’s skin, they were going to be ok. This was going to work out.

“I love you, Rich,” Eddie sighs.

“I love you too, Spaghetti. Always have. ”

“Now let me free so I can fucking change. You too. We are _not_ falling asleep covered in dried jizz.”


End file.
